


The Secret of Darkness

by Dark_Labyrinth



Category: Merry Gentry - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Labyrinth/pseuds/Dark_Labyrinth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frost has been cast aside by Andais and Doyle is there to pick him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret of Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I know the timeline is skewed, but this is my vision and I hope it’s enjoyable. This is my first attempt at a Merry Gentry Fic and though I love Merry I had to leave her out of this one. Because well… Read and see.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters belong to Laurell K. Hamilton, unless otherwise specified. I am simply borrowing them for a bit and will put them back when I am done. Characters and settings from in crossovers belong to their creators. Original characters and settings are the sole property of the authors and may not be used without permission.

**PART: 1**

Frost lay in his bed alone. Andais had finally cast him aside like he knew she eventually would. Memories of her beautiful body shining against his, casting long shadows on the wall tore his heart from his chest. He knew her, knew her as well as he’d ever known a woman and now there would be none. For to be a guard is to only be allowed the sweet touch of her body. No other woman would be allowed to touch him. The pain of it brought crystal tears to his eyes when a soft knock sounded on the door. 

Quickly he dried the tears. “Enter.” His voice as cold as his name left a chill to the single word. 

“Frost? Are you alright?” It was Doyle. His deep voice seemed to echo where no echo should sound. 

“I am fine. Should I be other?” He pulled himself to sitting, swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed. 

“I am sorry.” Doyle’s voice held an edge of sadness; true sadness that darkness should never hold. 

Frost held his icy demeanor. “It is what it is, Captain.” 

The next day Frost was called to his Queen’s chambers. He entered to find her naked, crawling from her large bed where her new human lover laid still slumbering. The cold arrogant mask faltered for a moment and he knew she had seen it. 

“You disapprove of my new lover?” Her voice held a danger that only she could possess. 

“No, My Queen, I am simply here to do as you bid.” He managed to control his words, no emotion leaked onto them though he wanted to slice the man open with Winter’s Kiss. 

“Yes, you are. Don’t forget that you are mine to do with as I please or do not please. Would a trip to Ezekiel’s tender care help to remind you?” Andais walked to him and stood before him in all her glory. Her skin was flawless, from her soft small breasts to the supple slip of thigh. 

“If that is what My Queen wishes.” He dropped down to one knee. The Hallway of Mortality was where Ezekiel resided. The downside to being immortal was that torture could last a very long time and Ezekiel had mastered the art. 

Frost’s head stayed bowed as he heard her footsteps walk away. His silver hair lay on the floor like Christmas tinsel. He stayed down on his knee as she dressed and applied her makeup. He heard her head for the door and still he stayed down. 

“You may leave.” She dismissed him and he managed not to hobble as he made his way to the training room.

 

 **PART: 2**

After a month of being out of the Queen’s bed, Frost wore his arrogant mask on every occasion; even when it was he and his captain alone. Doyle worried for him. His second was never like that with him. He was never jovial, but not always so sullen. 

Doyle had never shared the Queen’s bed. She said “I would not risk a belly full of puppies.” Doyle’s ancestor’s descended from the great hunt. He used to be able to shift form into a large dog or horse. After the last weirding this power was lost to him. 

He slipped down the hall to Frost’s room and entered without knocking. 

Frost heard the steps stop outside his door and drew Winter’s Kiss before the door opened. When Doyle entered he did not lower his sword. “What is wrong?” 

“Nothing, put away your sword.” Doyle shut the door, moved into his bedroom and sat on the bed. 

Frost sheathed his sword and looked questioningly at his Captain. “If nothing is wrong why have you come?” He stood with his back straight and his arrogant mask back in place. 

“You are wounded,” Doyle stated simply. He didn’t like seeing his second so hurt. More so, he did not like seeing his friend so hurt. 

“I am not. There are no wounds on me. I have fought no duel.” Frost did not understand The Queen’s Darkness making such a statement. 

“Yes, you are. The Queen has cast you aside and it is very apparent that she has wounded you. I would not say anything if the rest of the guard had not noticed, but they have. They tip toe around you. You do not see it for you are too consumed in the loss of what you thought you had.” Doyle spoke with a calm demeanor. He knew that Frost would jump to the defensive and he was trying to avoid that. 

“I am not consumed with grief.” The words bore a weight of pain that stabbed at Doyle’s chest. 

Frost stood his ground, his hand still gripping the handle of his sword. “I did have her. I had her for three years and…” 

“No you didn’t.” Doyle cut him off before he could finish. “No one truly has Andais. You can only reside whilst she tolerates you. You were but a passing fancy. Did you think she would keep you after watching centuries of her casting aside her lover’s like used linens? Frost, I thought you smarter than that.” 

“Get. Out.” Frost’s anger was tangible. It pressed on Doyle like a winter storm as he stood. He looked at his friend and could see the pain visible in the shaking of his arms as he fought himself not to draw his sword. 

“Goodnight, Frost.” Doyle left and knew their conversation was not done.

 

 **PART: 3**

A week later found Doyle sparring with Nicca. Doyle’s long black braid whipped out of nowhere and sliced across Nicca’s tanned face. He had removed all of his jewelry save his nipple ring. He had learned that even in sparring he was always on guard. He tried to teach his men that everything was a weapon and a weakness. Nicca was learning that lesson. 

Nicca’s soft demeanor was nothing compared to the man in a fight. He looked soft, but in a battle Doyle was proud to have him at his side. The door to the training room slammed open and Frost entered with his power flaring around him. Nicca turned with his blade in hand. 

“You do not want this, Bucca.” Bucca was a breed of Sidhe that had long since died away and Nicca was descended from them. 

“Leave, Nicca,” Doyle commanded from beside him. 

“Yes, Captain.” Nicca left, hoping whatever was happening would end with them both intact. 

Doyle feared it would come to this. Frost was looking for his end and he was hoping Doyle would give it to him. 

Winter’s Kiss sliced through the air and Bainidhe Dub arched to meet it. No words were spoken. There was only the sound of blades cutting air and meeting in a loud clank of metal hitting metal with a sharp scraping sound to accent. 

They fought for hours, exchanging blows and grunts. Finally, Doyle had disarmed him and thrown Frost to the ground. The tip of his blade touched Frost’s Adam’s apple and a drop of crimson stained his white flesh in a stream down his neck. 

“I will not finish you, Frost.” They were evenly matched and had not Frost been emotional the fight would have ended in a stale mate. He withdrew his blade and backed up a step. 

“Why?” Frost demanded, anger tearing through him with every breath he took. 

“Because you are not yourself. This….” He waved his hand as if to signal something that was not there, “…will end. And you will come back to me.” He’d said me; he’d meant to say us. 

“To you? What do you mean by that, Darkness?” Frost was pulling himself to his feet. His anger still flooded his mouth like a bitter candy that one cannot stop tasting; even when it leaves you sick. 

Doyle turned and walked to the table where his sheath and belt were. “If you wish for your end you will have to find it elsewhere,” he told him while wiping the drop of blood from his sword’s tip. 

“You don’t know. You have never shared her bed and been cast aside.” Frost was looking for a fight. He wanted Doyle as angry as he was. His sword lay discarded on the floor. He no longer needed it. Doyle could end it for him with out his blade. 

He stalked to him, his feet carrying him with a deadly purpose. He grabbed Doyle’s shoulder and spun him to face him. 

Quicker than the eye could register, Doyle’s hands were on Frost’s shoulder and neck and slamming him into the nearest wall. 

“No, I have never known her body. But I spent the last three years knowing she had yours.” Doyle’s black eyes bore into the gray orbs of his best friend. 

Doyle pushed away from him and growled his frustration. He turned his back and felt in an instant all the anger and frustration of having his best friend before him but never having him. Pain pierced his heart. Looking into Frost’s beautiful face was too much. He had studied that face for centuries and knew every angle and curve. Even with his back turned he could still see the soft pout to his lips and the long silver lashes. 

Frost only stood there in silent shock. He hadn’t known. He would have never guessed. His mind replayed in the span of an instant all of their shared moments together and still he never saw what it was Doyle was admitting. 

Doyle spun quickly; his long braid whipping dangerously close to Frost’s face and fisted the material of his shirt to shove him back into the wall. The anger and pain flooded his pitch black eyes. Centuries of yearning spoke to him in that single look. The pain was too much to bear and Frost almost looked away, almost. If Doyle could show him that pain then he could see it. To look away would have been an insult. 

“For three years I stood guard, sometimes outside her door, sometimes inside her door and I listened to your moans. I wanted to die a little with each grunt you made and each harsh breath that signaled your pleasure. Never have I been so lost. So DON’T. Don’t tell me I don’t know.” At that moment a part of him did die. The look on Frost’s face told him that he would never have him. Unrequited love when the recipient was ignorant of the love was one thing. When it was known and unreturned it was a pain too great to suffer. 

Doyle turned and stormed out of the training room and left Frost standing there. All the fight had left his body and his anger had disappeared with it. He had never seen Doyle so angry or emotional. It left him breathless and confused.

 

 **PART: 4**

Frost sat on his bed and pondered Doyle’s words. It had been a fortnight and he watched as his friend managed to do what he could not. He was still Doyle, still the Queen’s Darkness. And he still treated everyone as he always had. He was a strong arm, the Captain of the Queen’s guard and perfect. 

Frost saw his best friend in a new light. The beauty of his ebony skin., dark as pitch but there were soft flashes of blue and purple that would show in certain light. Eyes that had always been as black as his skin mirrored those colors and more, pink’s, green’s, orange’s and colors he had no name for reflected in the endless black of his eyes. The point of his ears, signaling that he was lesser fey were beautifully adorned in silver rings and flawless diamonds. He was not lesser. Not to Frost. Doyle was the epitome of perfection. The Queen somehow seemed diminished next to the splendor that stood beside her. She was still beautiful, but nothing to her Darkness. 

He pushed himself from his bed and went to the training room. The room had always helped him clear his thoughts. He was dressed in white loose pants and nothing more. He’d used a polished bone to hold his hair up high on his head and carried only his sword. 

He entered to find the room empty. Removing his belt and sheath he made his way to the arms table and laid them down, then pulled his blade from the sheath. He practiced deep into the night and was lost in his thoughts of ebony skin and the long black braid when his voice sounded behind him. 

He turned towards the voice not having heard what was said. “Captain?” 

“I said; are you almost through? I have waited half the night for use of the room.” Doyle’s voice was normal. Not cold nor angry, but ever patient. 

“You could have joined me,” Frost said. 

“I would not have wanted to intrude. You seemed… determined in your training.” Doyle had tried to forget his admission to Frost, but he couldn’t. All he could see was the look of shock on his friend’s face. 

“It would not have been an intrusion, Doyle. Your presence is always welcome.” Frost cursed himself. Why couldn’t he tell him what it was he’d been thinking? He wanted him. That in and of itself was hard to grasp. Frost had never been a lover of men, but he loved the man in front of him. 

“It is kind of you to say so. I am sorry.” Doyle moved forward and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I am sorry to have placed you in such an uncomfortable situation. We are friends and that is good enough for me.” He gave him a strong smile and squeeze to his shoulder then turned to disarm. He was working on his hand to hand tonight. 

“What if it is not good enough for me?” The words were strong and almost challenging and stopped Doyle in his tracks. 

“What is it you’re saying, Frost?” He didn’t turn; if he did he would be forced to show him the hope he had in his eyes. 

“I’m…” Frost started and dropped his sword and moved quickly to Doyle’s back. His arms circled his bare waist and his lips brushed his ear as he spoke to him. “I’m saying I want you.” 

A shiver ran the length of his body at the feel of Frost’s lips on his ear. Heat coiled where his bare chest pressed against his back and sparks ignited from the strong grip of his arms. “Be sure.” He couldn’t have him and then stop. He knew he couldn’t. 

“I’m sure,” Frost whispered and licked slowly from his ear down his neck. 

Doyle turned quickly in his arms and growled while his eyes narrowed. Frost looked at him and he could swear he saw something in those gray eyes that had never been there before. First he saw submission then he saw lust, then love shown in those eyes. 

Doyle attacked his mouth. His tongue forced its way into him while his hands gripped his head and his ass. He held him to him and thrust his tongue inside of him. He’d waited thousands of years to do this and he was nothing but raw need barely contained by his body. 

Within moment’s he had Frost laid out on the floor and was yanking his pants from him. He growled his pleasure to see he was already hard in anticipation. He flipped him over and raised his ass in the air and bent his head to lick over his puckered entrance. 

Frost moaned deep in his throat. The first swipe of Doyle’s tongue sent shivers of pleasure down his spine. His fingers gripped the cheeks of his ass and spread them painfully apart. Doyle’s tongue entered him and he moaned loud and pushed back only to have his progress halted by Doyle’s strong hands and a threatening growl that made his tongue vibrate inside of him. 

“Aaugh!” The pleasure was intense and Doyle’s tongue was long and thick. Longer than he thought was normal. He tongue fucked him until his cock was leaking onto the mat below him and he was crying out for him. 

Doyle had dreams of what Frost would feel like. They were nothing compared to what he actually was. The heat of his hole was scalding on his tongue and he laved at it, searching him out and caressing his walls. Listening to him moan and cry out had Doyle’s shaft throbbing with need to take the place of his tongue, but he would not hurry this. This was what he’d waited thousands of years for. 

Frost growled his displeasure when that velvet tongue left him. He started to rise on his hands, was shoved back down to the ground and he almost fought when a finger was shoved into him. His head whipped back and the bone that had been holding it flew off somewhere and his hair flew through the air like silver rain. 

Doyle held his finger all the way inside of him, distracted by the shine of hair that flew towards him. His free hand grabbed a handful of that hair and yanked it back so that Frost’s head was tilted back at an unnatural angle. 

He rammed his finger into him until he was pushing back onto it and he added another. He punched into his prostate over and over again. Frost was screaming under him and he felt sweat trickle down his spine then soak into his braid. Frost started glowing and his own skin responded. Blue deeper than any sapphire and purple to shame the darkest amethyst swirled with the white glow. 

He twisted his fingers in hard and scissored them out. The moans and cries of his second had him growling with impatience. He wanted him beyond reason and knew that this was the only being he would ever love. He could feel Frost was close and quickly pulled out his fingers and released his hair. His hands gripped his hips hard and flipped him over with ease. 

Frost’s mind was a flurry of emotions and the sensations he felt were alien to him, but better than anything he’d ever experienced. The world spun and he was laid out for his lover. He wanted to be filled by him, wanted to feel his thick shaft sliding deep into him. 

What happened next threw him so completely he was spell bound. Doyle shifted his body and straddled him. Fisting his cock and positioning him he sank down onto him. The head of his cock pushed at the resistance at his entrance. Then all at once he slid into the most unbelievably tight heat he’d ever felt. A woman never felt like this. He could feel every ridge of his body as he was forced past them to rip him open. 

Doyle’s head snapped back and he cried out in pain laced pleasure at the feeling of Frost inside of him. He lifted himself, his fingers digging and pushing into Frost’s chest then slammed himself back down. He’d never had a man inside of him and never wanted one until he’d met Frost. And now… now he was riding him, rocking his hips back and forth, grinding him inside of him. 

Their magic boiled and joined them as only can happen when the Sidhe have sex. It pulled at them and Frost could feel Doyle inside his body, his magic caressing him and touching him from the inside out. He was thrusting up, meeting his lover’s thrusts and screaming in pleasure. 

Frost had never seen such beauty as the sight that was granted him. Doyle’s head was thrown back and his body shuddered when he ground at the end of every downward thrust. His hands held onto the wrists of his lover as he carved at his chest. White against black, but more than that… It was as if their contrast was made for joining. 

Light danced all around them and he could feel the magic and his orgasm pushing to the surface. Before that could happen Doyle was moving again. He lifted his body releasing Frost’s and lifted his legs over his shoulders. Frost had a moment to look down the line of his body as Doyle’s thick shaft buried itself inside of him. 

The pain that ripped through him was better than any he’d ever felt. Doyle’s fingers were not near enough to prepare him for the thick length that was piercing his body. When Doyle’s prick slammed into his prostate on the first thrust and pure pleasure was ripped from his throat in one long scream of; “Doyle!” 

Doyle had never felt such pleasure as being filled by Frost. He was loathe to leave such bounty, but would have him under him as they both climaxed. As he entered him he felt their magic surge once more, pulling him forward to join them once more. He gazed down at his lover to see his silver hair pooled around him with light not only reflecting from his hair, but coming from its tips. He was beautiful. 

Doyle’s nails bit into the skin of his thighs and blood that glowed like garnet crystals made thin streams down his white legs. Frost was in heaven, he could feel each thrust ending at his prostate and bringing him right back to the edge of orgasm. His hands lashed out to claw at the mat beneath him, but gave him no purchase. Frost reached down and he clung to his own ass, spreading himself open for the penetrating member. 

A long loud growl sounded from Doyle’s chest working its way up his throat and out his mouth when Frost opened himself further for him. He slammed into him, the wet slap of their bodies muted by the moans of the man beneath him. He started rolling into him at the end of every thrust. Grinding into his prostate to watch as new sounds and expressions danced over the beautiful, once arrogant face of his lover. 

Soon the light was blinding and both Frost and Doyle’s eyes shut and their heads flew back as their orgasms rocketed through them. Each thrust brought with it a stream of essence in an orgasm that seemed unending. Somewhere in the back of Doyle’s mind he praised the Goddess and Consort for allowing him his dream. The moans, cries and harsh breaths were for him.


End file.
